18 Sept 26

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Raymond Carver, “Late Fragments”

17 Sept 2026

Today is the first day after your funeral. some truths I realised: grief is universal, love endures, life goes on.

I miss you a lot. I wanted to send you an interesting book I saw on the internet but remembered your number doesn’t work anymore. At work, I inherited your calculator as they were clearing your desk - your colleague said she was going to throw it away because it looked so old. I walked to school this evening and remembered our last conversation where you said you’ll come visit me at school for dinner together. After that conversation, I found a tree where we could sit and have a sandwich - I went to that tree this week and laid under it, realising only then that it was a bodhi tree. I watched the leaves rustle and the breeze.

The nature of our friendship changed ever since you had your illness. Unlike before, I’d think twice before sending you any random interesting titbit or thought that I stumble upon because I didn’t want to bother you. Like cooking where heat is applied to clarify something down to its essence, your cancer made the love between us purer and deeper.

I was with you the night before it all began - I wrote you a letter, much of its content hazy now, but I remembered saying “don’t be afraid. This is your path to walk alone, but I’m walking beside you”. I remembered sitting by your bed, and placing my hands on your feet. You cried and said you wished you had more time with the people you loved. That night, I searched my house for something to give you as encouragement for the long arduous pilgrimage ahead. I gave you the bean pillow that my grandmother made me as a symbol of the deep abiding love from our ancestors to us, and from me to you. You brought it with you on your final journey, and arrived at Santiago.

I photographed this magnificent bird in flight as I walked the Camino in 2025. It reminded me so much of you, and I had sent this photo to you then, titled “A side”, and a photo of your silhouette titled “B side” when you came with me to Sebastiao Salgado’s photo exhibition at the museum.

Be free now, my friend. You shall live on in the breeze, in the bright full moon, the light that flits through the canopy, the jazz notes and moving song of the cello that we spent several evenings listening to on full blast in your room.

P.s. Creating this blog seem a bit self-indulgent - you would have scoffed at it. I remembered early on writing you a letter after your second chemo but decided against giving it to you. I forgot to bring the letter I said. You replied, never mind, throw it away, no need. Admittedly, some things are implied. But I guess, since you did your last song your way, a classic Irish exit, I can do this my way as well, which I am sure you would understand. Just as I did. A coming to terms with life, death and grief, joy all at the same time. Talking to the void it seems, but unlike mumbling to myself and seeming as if I’m going mad, at least there’s a soft landing place for my sentimentality and sensitivities to land.